


Broken Wings

by DefyingPopularity



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera (1989), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefyingPopularity/pseuds/DefyingPopularity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU!Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction, featuring Tom as The Phantom of the Opera<br/>Tom sells his soul in order for his music to be heard and loved by the world, and the Devil burns his face as a curse. "The world will love your music, but that's all they'll love you for..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: 1875

**Author's Note:**

> I am rating this as Explicit to be on the safe side, as the prologue does contain explicit content. This will have elements of ALW's Phantom and the 1989 Phantom mixed together. Enjoy!

Prologue: 1875  
The Curse

The final preparations of the Palais Garnier were nearly complete as the first of January rolled around. Sir Thomas William Hiddleston, had been living in Paris for a number of years as a struggling composer and musician, trying to get his work noticed by the people of the highest regard that worked for the Paris Opera House. Tom loathed the managers of the theater; throughout countless and exhausting meetings to play samples of his work, he would go some days without even being seen by the managers or the owners. The men of power would not grant the time to Tom nor give him the chance to perform his work. He had heard tale that the managers had thought his music to be mediocre, at best. All he wanted, more than anything in the world, was for his music to be loved.  He had no friends, no family, and no wife to share his love of music with.

Finally, after months of waiting without a word from the managers, Tom had to give in and take a low paying job as a musician at a brothel, playing the piano to entertain the customers on the lower level in the saloon. Luckily, while living in Paris, the customers of the brothel sometimes preferred the classical pieces to the contemporary. Otherwise, they were too inebriated to notice what Thomas was playing. When he had heard that the Paris Opera House was nearing completion and would be inaugurated in just a few days, this sent him into a melancholy that he feared he would never be able to dig himself out of. He had wished that he hadn’t moved to Paris to study opera or composing. He had wished that he had stayed in London to marry a woman of taste and entertain everyone at their home.  _It wasn’t too late to turn back_ , he thought to himself, playing a slow, gentle piece of his own composition.  _Maybe I could still turn back and leave this life behind. I just wish that there was a way I could make people love my music._

Unbeknownst to Thomas, there was a man there that could make all of his dreams come to. The Devil himself. He strode down the brothel steps with two lovely ladies of the evening that did his bidding. He was a man of average height, dark hair and eyes, with a goatee covering his chin. He wore dark clothes with a red cloak, and he looked as a mortal man would look. He stood at about half way down the stairs, watching as Tom played at the piano, his fingers gliding gracefully across the keys, barely touching as the piano seemed to be full of sound. “Is this the man,” he asked one of his concubines, and she gave a soft nod before speaking.

 “He doesn’t bode well when temptation is under his nose, my lord,” she said, her voice soft and hoarse. “While he doesn’t take company with any of the ladies here, he does show a bit of loneliness as he plays.”

 “Well, then I suppose that we’ll just have to see how he reacts with temptation, won’t we,” he said in response, stepping lightly down the stairs the rest of the way, the two whores following close behind. They knew exactly what to do; they knew the routine when the Devil himself was trying to barter for another soul. They went to the bar and gathered the goblets, wine, and grapes for their own role in the barter. The Devil approached Thomas, standing behind him as he continued to watch and listen to him play.

 “You play beautifully,” he complimented, leaning against the piano. Thomas was so focused at first that he didn’t seem to notice as the man complemented him, until he looked up, still continuing to play.

“Thank you,” he responded, turning his focus back to his music while the two minions finished gathering their things of bribery, returning to the stairs and waiting for the Devil and Tom to come up with them.

 “What is it?”

 “It’s something of mine; I compose my own music.” Tom continued to play, his focus on his music unwavering until the Devil had moved behind him and placed his hands over Tom’s, halting the playing completely.

 “I would love to hear some more samples of your work,” the Devil spoke, looking at Tom intently. “Come upstairs with me and these two lovely ladies, and play for us.”

 Tom slowly removed his hands from the piano, turning towards the man and the ladies who awaited them. “I am sorry, sir, but I am required to stay downstairs and entertain the patrons while they wait.”

 The only response that the Devil gave was a small money sack being thrown into Tom’s lap. Tom looked at him, his eyebrow cocked as he slowly picked up the sack and opened it, his eyes widening in surprise and excitement. There was more francs and gold within the bag than what he had been paid at all in the brothel. He took it out and counted it to himself, deciding that it would be a bad idea to refuse such a payment from a man that he didn’t know. However, this man wanted to hear samples of his work. He could be a sponsor for the opera house, or some other place where his music could be played. He placed the sack in his pocket and stood up from the piano bench, and the Devil smiled, guiding Tom to the stairs, allowing the ladies to lead them up.

 The walk up to the third floor, where an old broken piano was kept, was one of the longest and most silent walks that Tom had ever encountered. The man didn’t speak, and neither did the ladies of the evening. The only thing that could be heard in the corridor of the brothel was the sounds of moans from the prostitutes who were occupied and the grunts of the men who were finishing off and preparing to leave to return home to their wives. The room where the piano was kept was formally known as the Red Room; it had a tarnished history for not only being decorated in a bright crimson mixed with gold, but it was said that a young woman was brutally murdered a number of years ago, and therefore, the room was haunted. The ladies walked down the corridor with Tom and the Devil in tow, opening the door. Tom was surprised to find that the room was clean, as if someone was living in there, and the piano had seemed to be repaired. The ladies went over to the bed and set the wine and grapes on a nearby table, sitting down while the Devil took his seat in a chair near the piano. Tom turned up the lamp for brighter light, sitting at the piano and turning to the man who had paid him. “Is there something specific that you want to hear?”

 “I just want you to play something that you’re very fond of,” the Devil replied, crossing his legs and drumming his fingers. Tom turned towards the piano and opened it, placing his fingers on the keys. The melody started out as a pulsing melody, rushed and violent. His fingers moved over the ivory so quickly that you had to be watching to catch them if they had stopped. “Tell me, Thomas,” the Devil spoke, his eyes still on Thomas while the women poured the wine, bringing the glasses over to him and Tom. “What do you want, more than anything in the world? What do you desire most?”

 Tom glanced over at him, wondering how he had known his name when he didn’t give it. He continued to play and the Devil gestured to the raven haired beauty to help Tom with drinking his wine. She stood behind him and slowly tilted his head back, putting the glass to his lips and tilting it back. Tom was taken by surprise, but opened his mouth and welcomed the wine, slowly licking his lips as the dark red liquid ran down the corners of his mouth. He tried to remain focused on the task at hand, wanting to impress the man that had paid him so much, but the beautiful woman behind him had begun to run her fingers through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck, obviously trying to seduce him. The Devil hid a smirk as the woman began to work him over, working the wine down his throat, each time her lips inching closer to his as the wine dripped from his mouth. Tom thought about the man’s question, the wine slowly beginning to go to his head as the melody slowed into a song of seduction and romance. His gaze turned towards the man as his wine glass was empty and the woman went to refill it, returning to his side and giving him more. After a drink from the newly refilled glass, he found his voice to answer the man. “I want to give my music to the world. I want the world to love my music. It has been so…so difficult trying to make my way to the Paris Opera House. No one will even consider hearing my music there, and that’s the only place that my music is fit to be heard.” He continued to play and the woman gave him more wine, allowing him bigger drinks slowly as the Devil spoke again.

 “What would you give to have your music be heard and loved,” the Devil asked, his finger running along the rim of his wine glass, having not touched it while the woman began to make slightly bolder moves towards Tom, seducing him slowly. Her fingers slowly opened his shirt and glided down his chest slowly. It was this movement that ceased Tom’s piano playing and Tom’s mind become fuzzy. She smiled softly as she continued to rub his chest, setting the wine aside and kissing his forehead, starting to use both of her hands to glide over Tom’s soft skin and muscles. Tom moaned softly, tilting his head back as her fingers began to work him over, slowly removing his jacket, and then his shirt. “Thomas, don’t become too occupied now. Answer my question: what would you give to have your music be heard and loved?”

 “Oh…anything,” Tom replied, his only focus now was the woman’s mouth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, nipping lightly. “I would give everything I had,” he continued and moved his head forward, turning towards the woman. The other woman that had joined the Devil, a young petite blond, walked over from the bed and grabbed hold of the raven haired woman, pulling her lips down forcibly upon hers and kissed her deeply, her hands roaming over the bare skin of her arms and the tops of her breasts. The seductress’ hands only left the woman’s body for a moment to take Tom’s hand, pulling him from the piano bench and guiding him to the bed, coaxing him to lie down. The blond and the black-haired women took turns undressing each other as Tom laid there in his haze, his pants coming increasingly uncomfortable as his sex began to harden rapidly, watching as the women’s bodies became exposed and they crawled over him, their hands gliding over his stomach, arms and legs. The Devil got up from his chair, slowly walking over to the foot of the bed, standing there as Tom moaned in ecstasy, his lips working between the women’s lips, his hands running over their bare backs as he wanted to beg for them to release him from his prison.

 “Thomas,” the Devil’s voice sang as he watched the seduction continue, knowing that he had Tom within the palm of his hand. All Tom had to do was to say what he wanted for him to give up. “Thomas, would you give your soul to me? Would you give your soul in exchange immortality? Would you give your soul in exchange for the world to love your music?”

 Something inside of Tom screamed at him to waken from his haze, to run from the room and never return to the brothel. However, the blonde’s hands worked open his trousers and he gasped as the pressure was removed, moaning in relief as she slowly lowered the trousers just enough to where she could crawl over him, her entrance hovering over him. He moved to arch upward, dying to be within her, while the other woman moved behind the blond, grabbing her breasts and massaging the soft tissue, tugging at the hardened, pink nipples to make the blond gasp sharply. The head of Tom’s cock was now within the blond and he let out a low groan, moving his hands to her hips and slamming her down to the base. The impact of her made her moan out loud and she began to ride him. The rhythm she had created was not a slow and caressing movement; it was steady, hard-paced, designed to make a man come or at least bring him very close to the edge. Tom’s eyes rolled back and he groaned, allowing the concubine to ride him to her heart’s content, getting the most of the feel of his endowment. The Devil spoke again, this time in a whisper so Tom would focus more.

 “Thomas…would you give your soul to me, in exchange for immortality and for the world to love your music?”

 Tom gasped as he felt the woman’s walls tighten, bringing him closer to the edge. The Devil’s offer rang in his head, and he found that he couldn’t resist the temptation of fame, fortune, and his music being heard and loved all over the world. “Yes…” he said, his voice raspy as sweat beaded out from his forehead, feeling his cock pulse within the woman as he drew closer to the edge. “Yes…I would give my soul,” he groaned aloud, grabbing at the woman’s hips.

 Suddenly, the woman stopped, making Tom whimper at the feel of her at a complete halt. She moved off of him and she and the raven-haired woman left the bed, getting dressed. Tom sat up, confused as he watched the women disappear into the shadows and the room grow dark and cold. He was left alone with the Devil, and he suddenly felt alone. The Devil slowly approached Tom on the bed, reaching his hand out and touching the right side of Tom’s face. “The world will love you for your music, but that’s all they will love you for.”

 A surge of burning power surged through Tom and he screamed, pulling away from the Devil’s hand and scrambling off the bed, grabbing at his face as it seared and burned, the smell of burnt flesh filling the room. The Devil had what he came for and he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Tom writhing on the Red Room’s floor. The remaining people that were upstairs heard Tom’s screams and came running to the room, pulling him up and getting him to the parlor downstairs, calling for a doctor to treat his burns. The story that they had believed happened was that Tom was intoxicated and exploring the brothel, falling and breaking the lamp, the oil and flame causing it to burn his face. A few days of staying at the brothel to heal, but there was no change, the managers of the opera house came and requested to hear this music, and fell in love with it. His wishes had come true, at the price of the curse laid upon him by the Devil’s hands. He truly believed that he would never be loved.

 Until she came along.


	2. Chapter 1

Paris  
1899

It had been nearly twenty-five years since the Devil had laid his hand on Tom’s face, disfiguring him for the rest of his immortal days. After the doctors had done what they could after that fateful night, he went underground, hiding in the depths of the Paris Opera House and offering his opinion on how the house was to be run when they had begun to fail. He created a porcelain mask for his face and wore a wig, as his hair was thinner than it was that night and to hide the scars from his peers, when he chose to appear to them. Mainly, he wrote notes when it was necessary to communicate his wishes, and he was paid a monthly salary which he saved and only spent when it was needed. He encouraged them to perform more contemporary operas. Very little people who worked in the Paris Opera House knew who he was and what he could do. Accidents had occurred during performances and rehearsals when things did not go his way. The men who ran the Opera House had discovered that it was better to listen to him rather than try and do things their own way.

 The celebratory 25th season of the Paris Opera House was about to begin in October of 1899. That is when the owners had changed once again, and Tom was dealing with new people who did not understand how he wanted his theater operated. The current reigning _prima donna_ was La Carlotta, a shrieking Italian soprano who couldn’t handle her pitch the higher her voice went as she sang through the arias. The red-haired Italian had been the reigning _prima donna_ for five years, so the managers felt that she needed to remain the _prima donna_ for the 25 th season. Tom felt otherwise, but he needed to find another soprano to take her place in order to change their minds.

 Tom did indeed find another soprano years before; a Mademoiselle Christine Daae. He had been training her to take over the role of the _prima donna_ for ten years, and she adored him as a teacher, even though she had not seen him except what she pictured in her mind. It wouldn’t matter to her what he looked like anyway; the young, curly-haired brunette had been engaged to one of the patrons of the opera house, a Raoul de Chagny, who was a Vicomte. His parents had been a patron of the Paris Opera House for twenty years, and he had inherited their patronage from them. He, of course, loved opera as much as they did. Of course, this wasn’t a problem, and didn’t make Tom jealous at all, for he had no soul and could not feel what other mortal men felt toward women. He could perform, of course, but he could never feel any sort of attachment to any woman since his bargain with the Devil.

 Of course, Tom had his own little minions and spies who aimed to please him whenever it was necessary and his eyes couldn’t be there to watch the current drama unfold. For instance, there was Meg Giry, the daughter of the ballet mistress who had been there with her mother since she was a child. Meg was all of twenty-five years of age now, and Tom was sure that she was in love with him. She was completely devoted to him, and would do anything to please him. She had only desired to see him long enough to express her gratitude and affection, but he always seemed to be too quick and would always leave her grasp. Of course, the petite blond ballerina had her own tasks as well as trying to please who the others in the theater called ‘The Phantom’ or ‘The Opera Ghost.’ Along with her ballet duties and her roles in the chorus, she was in charge of caring for a mute girl who had been in the charge of her mother since the age of seven. Her name was Madeleine Cheveux.

 Madeleine was a mute from a time before she came to the Paris Opera House to study ballet. The story was that there was some sort of tragic event involving her family in the Americas and the parents had stated in their will that Madeleine was to return to Paris and train as a ballerina under the instruction of Madame Giry at the Paris Opera House. What the owners and Madame Giry didn’t count for at the time of Madeleine’s arrival was that she had turned mute at the time of her parents’ death. She never spoke a word, but communicated through writing her words to paper, reading the lips of others, and signing with her hands. Madame Giry didn’t have time to learn what the signs meant, so she put Meg in charge of translating when it was needed. Madeleine was now twenty-seven, still mute, and still in the ballet corps, but she managed to become good friends with Meg, as she was the only one who could communicate properly with her. She had long, wavy, dark brown hair, and a pair of grey-blue eyes that could stare into your soul. Her skin was fair, and she had the figure of a ballerina, though she had the curves of a soprano. Madeleine was very independent, and Meg knew this, but her mother insisted that Meg never left Madeleine’s side, fearing that Madeleine would cross a line that no one dared to cross. At the time that her rehearsals for the upcoming season were about to start, Tom had never taken notice of the little mute girl who was in the back row of the ballet corps.

 Rehearsals began in the middle of October. The opera that was chosen for the season opener was the opera _Faust_ , and the roles had been filled. Tom was excited about the new ballet that had been added in, even though he was not looking forward to the screeching of Carlotta in her role as Marguerite, the maiden that was seduced by Faust after he has made his deal with the Devil. Faust reminded him so much of his own bargain with the Devil, longing to take it back if he could. Faust would be played by Ubaldo Piangi, Carlotta’s suspected lover and the reigning tenor of the Paris Opera House, and Siébel was going to be played by Christine. Tom gathered his things to head up to his box to watch the rehearsal, going up by way of the secret passages and coming out through a vacant dressing room. He adjusted his mask and stepped out of the dressing room, knowing that everyone was out in the wings, waiting for the first rehearsal of the season to begin. He knew that he wouldn’t be seen by anyone, and that was the way that he wanted it kept. He walked up one flight of stairs of the winding path, hearing a vase shatter and someone gasp within another vacant room. He stopped as he heard the panicked whimpers of someone inside, turning towards the door. Everything inside of him told him to keep going, but when he didn’t hear any sort of words being spoken, he decided to investigate. He set his things down near the door and placed his hand on the doorknob, opening it slowly.

 There, at the vanity, was a broken vase, drops of blood, and a panicked Madeleine trying to clean up the mess that she had made. She was wearing her Degas ballet outfit, what all of the little ballerinas wore before being fitted for costumes. It had occurred to Tom that this was Carlotta’s dressing room, and Madeleine had broken one of her cherished vases which often held flowers from patrons of the opera house or from her lover, Piangi. Of course, this was an accident, but Carlotta wouldn’t care and would demand that Madeleine be reprimanded whether it was an accident or not. From what Tom could see, Madeleine was there to clean up, as she did often as a side job for when she wasn’t practicing, and while dusting, dropped and broke the vase. When she had tried to pick up the pieces, she had cut her hand. Tom took another slow step inside, closing the door behind him. She looked up as she heard the door close, laying her eyes on the Phantom for the first time in all of the years that she had lived at the Opera House. She dropped the pieces in her hands and began to sign at him frantically, as if to say that she was sorry and it was an accident, just as Tom thought it was. He slowly approached her with his hand raised, showing her that he meant no harm and that she could stop signing towards him. She stopped signing, panting as she looked down at her right hand, opening it to reveal a cut over the palm, whimpering still.

 “Stop whimpering,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief and taking her hand, and gently wrapping the handkerchief around it and tying it. “You’ll be all right; don’t worry. Don’t worry about signing to me either, because I won’t be able to understand you. You can read lips, yes?”

 She looked up at him and nodded softly, closing her hand around the handkerchief when he was finished wrapping her hand.

 “What were you doing in here,” he asked as he began to pick up the pieces for her, throwing the pieces into a wastebasket before taking a wet towel and cleaning up the specks of blood on the vanity and on the floor. “Were you cleaning? Did Carlotta ask you to clean?”

 Madeleine nodded yes again, watching as the Phantom cleaned up the mess that she had made, her hand still clasped closed.

 “Were you planning on missing the first rehearsal of the season, and therefore forfeiting any chance that you had making it out of the ballet corps?”

 She looked at him, cocking her head to the side as if she didn’t understand him. He finished cleaning up the mess, discarding the towel in the wastebasket before turning to look at her.

 “You can’t honestly say that you want to spend the rest of your life here, Madeleine. You don’t want to be trapped like I am. Now, get to rehearsal, before you get into trouble.”

 She gave him a soft nod and gave him a little bow before she departed from the room, rushing off to rehearsal. He shook his head after she left, leaving the dressing room and closing the door behind him, gathering his things from the floor and walked back up to the opera box.

 

* * *

 

Madeleine ran to the wings of the stage, her hand still clasped closed. Panic ran through her as she turned back to see if the Phantom had followed her, walking backwards and bumping into someone. She wanted to let out an inaudible scream as she turned around, but saw it was only Meg and she began to sign to her frantically.

“Madeleine, slow down,” she said softly, taking her by the arms and breathing deeply with her. “All right, now, what happened to your hand,” she said, looking at the bandage. Madeleine stomped her foot and pulled her hand away, signing toward Meg.

_I was in Carlotta’s room and I was cleaning,_ she signed, walking with Meg to the wings.  _I dropped one of her vases and as I was picking up the pieces, I cut my hand. I began to panic, and suddenly…he was there._

“Who was there, the Phantom,” Meg asked, taking a minute to look over her hand.

  _Yes, and…he wasn’t angry. I thought he would be because I broke the vase, but he seemed angrier because I wasn’t here. He sent me off and I left._

“Weren’t you afraid?”

  _After all of this time that I have been here and I heard all of the stories, I thought I would be, but…he seems so gentle, and yet so menacing at the same time. It was almost frightening that I wasn’t afraid of him because I know what he’s capable of._

“You better be careful what you wish for, Madeleine,” Meg said as she took the first position, Madeleine following suit as Madame Giry came over and began to talk to the corps about the ballet for _Faust_. “You know what he’s capable of. He could turn on you in a minute, regardless of what you do in the theater.”

 Madeleine gave a soft nod and began to do her warm-ups with the rest of the corps, looking up at Box Five every now and again to see if she could see a glimpse of the Phantom. There didn’t seem to be anyone there.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a weird funk tonight, so this chapter may not be my best work, but it's here. Thanks for reading! ~DP

Meg walked down the corridor, carrying a small basket filled with bread, wine, and a few other items to deliver to the Phantom, swinging the basket lightly as she walked. She went into one of the dressing rooms and crossed over to the mirror, pressing into it until it released, sliding it open. She crossed over into the secret passage and slid the mirror closed again, walking down the dimly lit passage. She had walked down below before, so she knew her way fairly well in the dark. While she held the basket with one hand, her other hand glided along the cold stone wall and she traveled deeper into the depths of the opera house. She turned another corner, and Tom crossed in front of her, causing her to gasp and take a step back before she realized it was him, taking a slow, deep breath. “You frightened me, sir,” she murmured as she handed him the basket, looking up at him. She was much shorter than him, and while he towered over her, he always seemed to adjust himself so she wouldn’t strain herself from looking up at him. Once he had the basket in hand, he sat down on the floor with his back up against the wall, motioning to the spot across from him for Meg to sit down. She did so, gasping a little as the cool stone path touched her thighs. She watched as he uncovered the basket, taking out the bottle of wine and opening it, drinking straight from the bottle, looking her over.

 “You look like you want to tell me something. Did something happen at rehearsal today,” he asked, taking the bread out and slicing it, eating a bit of the heel.

 “No, actually, it was a fairly uneventful rehearsal,” she replied, resting her head against the stone wall. “The only dramatic thing that happened today was that you surprised Madeleine and she thought you were going to hurt her.”

 “Doesn’t everyone think I’m going to hurt them at some point and time,” he said cynically, taking another drink of the wine, offering the bottle to Meg, but she declined. “What did she say about me?”

 “Just that you were the perfect gentleman and very caring towards her. Quite the opposite of all of the horror stories that have been floating around here for the past twenty-five years.”

 “Don’t push your luck, Meg,” he told her in a stern tone. “You know more than anyone that I am capable of turning on a dime. You could very well be next on my list.”

 “Thomas,” she said in a soft tone, a sign that she didn’t mean to offend him. “You know that I care about you. I just don’t want you to get into any trouble. These new owners have been going over the books rather thoroughly, and your salary may be in danger.”

 “My salary will never be in danger. Most of the people in this city know that the owners have to pay a salary in order to keep me happy, as well as to have a good season throughout the coming months.”

 “They are claiming that the salary that they leave for you has put the opera house in the red and they need to put the money towards the operas that they want to perform.”

 Tom mulled the thought over in his head as he ate a bit more food that Meg had brought down for him, letting out a low sigh as he looked at her. “I believe that a letter is in order. Tell me about these managers.”

 “Well, there’s technically three. A Richard Firmin and a Giles Andre are going to be the ones running the office, but the backer is a Raoul de Chagny. I believe that he’s a Vicomte. He comes from a very rich family, and I’m sure that you know that he’s engaged to Christine. Firmin and Andre have never dealt with anything musical before; they were in some sort of other business, which is where they made their fortune. They are musical idiots, and I believe that they will be taking over the house after we finish Faust. Unfortunately, they’re going to keep Carlotta employed because she has so much experience.”

 Tom nodded in understanding, making mental notes in his mind of what he wanted to request of these new owners. He took his watch out of his pocket and looked at the time, noticing that he was late for his lesson with Christine. He stood up and brushed himself off, offering his hand to Meg. She took it slowly and stood up, keeping hold of his hand. She stood up on point and leaned up, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes, letting out a low sigh as he felt her soft lips on his skin. He would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t tempted by Meg’s affection towards him, and how easy it would be take advantage of her. However, his feelings towards her didn’t reflect how she felt towards him. She pulled back only for a moment and went to kiss his lips, but he placed a finger on her lips to stop her, looking into her eyes. “Meg, you know how I feel about you,” he murmured, his fingers gliding over her jawbone lightly. “We can’t, and we won’t. You know this.”

 “I know,” she spoke softly, her gaze soft as she stared into his deep blue eyes. “I just wish I could make you see differently.”

 “No one, and I mean no one, can ever truly love me. I have told you this, and you know the story of this curse that was laid upon me.”

 “I don’t believe in curses. You need to let me try.”

 “Meg, I said no,” he said sternly, pulling his hand away from her. “Accept it. No one will ever love me, including you.”

 With that, he walked away from her, leaving her in the passageway alone. She let out a low sigh and left the basket there for him to retrieve later, returning to her room.

 

* * *

Above in the opera house, Christine was practicing the part of Seibel, and Tom had begun conducting her lesson with her. Everyone else was either out for the evening, or already in bed for the night. The faint music rang throughout the empty opera house, echoing along the walls and through the corridors. Madeleine could listen to the beautiful music all night, and often she heard it until the wee hours of the morning. She looked down at her still bandaged hand, feeling the fabric of the handkerchief. It was soft and delicate, the material light as air. She couldn’t believe that it was something that the Phantom had used. She got up from her bed and walked to the door, opening it and peering outside. When she didn’t see Madame Giry roaming the corridors doing her usual bed checks as she did every night before she retired, she stepped out and closed the door behind her, tiptoeing down the corridor towards Christine’s room, listening to the lesson that was being conducted.

Inside the room, Tom was sitting behind the mirror, listening as Christine sang her part. He became bored quite easily, stopping her after a few minutes. “Christine, I want to hear you sing the part of Marguerite for me. I want to hear how you’ve progressed.”

Christine turned towards the mirror as she stopped singing, looking at her reflection. “I’m only the understudy. Is it really necessary that I --?”

“Of course it is necessary! That’s the part that you want, is it not? You’re the only one who can sing Marguerite as it was meant to be sung. Now, sing.”

She nodded, and began to sing Marguerite’s aria in French, as it was meant to be sung. However, her voice was lacking, so Tom stopped her again, shaking his head.

“Oh, no, that won’t do at all. You need to sing with passion, desire. Your voice and your heart must be one. Now sing…like an angel sent from heaven.”

 Christine nodded and began the aria again, not as lacking as it was before. In fact, it was much better than the time before. Madeleine listened at the door, smiling softly as she heard Christine singing. It was a sound like she had never heard before. Christine’s voice was so pure and light-hearted that everyone, including Carlotta, would be jealous when they heard her. That is, if she was due to take over Carlotta’s role of Marguerite. Madeleine stepped away from the door as she heard rustling, tiptoeing back towards her room. She hummed softly to herself, standing on pointe and practicing some of the ballet moves from the rehearsal earlier in the day, as she moved down the corridor. Her body moved so gracefully, light as her feet never seemed to stay on the ground longer than a few moments that she hardly seemed to move at all. She moved towards the stage, in her own world as she worked through the choreography, turning fully before leaping across the stage.

 Tom watched her from above on the catwalk, studying her out of curiosity more than anything. She was one person that he didn’t think he could come to understand her motivation to perform. However, she seemed as if she was completely lost in the music that was playing in her mind. How could someone like her be so independent and brazen when she was alone, but so meek and timid when others were around? He didn’t understand it, but nevertheless, his curiosity was getting the better of him. As he went to begin his descent down, Madame Giry came out of the shadows and banged her baton on the stage, startling Madeleine and causing her to lose her concentration, nearly falling.

 “And what are you doing out of bed,” the raven-haired ballet mistress asked, the only source of light illuminating her and her black gown was the lamp that she held in her free hand. “It is past curfew, Madeleine!”

 Madeleine went to sign something towards Madame Giry, but she stopped as she put her hands up, lowering them at her sides again, fiddling with the skirt of her nightgown. She knew she had broken the rule, and didn’t have an excuse as to why. She only lowered her head, knowing that Madame Giry was disappointed.

 “Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Come now, Madeleine, I know that you can speak. You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. You came to us as a young child, but you weren’t that young that you didn’t know how to talk. Now speak up!”

 Madeleine didn’t look up at Madame Giry, and didn’t say a word. Tom watched, sitting on the catwalk. Could she really speak, and she was just using the signing as a ploy for the sympathy of others? Or was it that she just preferred not to speak because no one could ever seem to say a kind word to her with the exception of Meg? Madame Giry let out an exasperated sigh, and waved Madeleine off with her hand and Madeleine ran back to her room, Madame Giry following behind her to make sure that she had indeed returned to her room. Tom decided that he would have to investigate this young ballerina a bit further, his interest peaking with the accusations made by Madame Giry. He descended from the catwalk and walked through the corridors to the secret passageway, going to the mirror behind Madeleine’s room to watch her.

 Meg was in the room, as she was Madeleine’s roommate in the dorms. Madeleine was signing to her, and he watched her as her fingers and hands made motions towards Meg, and Meg nodded, talking to her.

 “So you were caught by mother? That’s nothing new. What did Christine sound like?”

 She had listened to the lesson? How dare she intrude on something private! He watched as his temper began to flare, wishing he could understand her sign language.

 “Beautiful? Like an angel? Really?”

 He blinked as he watched and listened, leaning against the mirror. Madeleine continued to sign towards her, moving to lie down on the bed, sighing happily.

 “I wish we could hear her soon, and as for you, Miss Madeleine, you need to be more careful. You have to remember that the Phantom is always roaming, as well as my mother. Just be cautious, you know?”

 Madeleine nodded and rolled towards the wall. As Meg began to turn the lamp down, Tom moved away from the mirror and began to make his descent down to his home, beginning to devise a plan on how he could get Madeleine to talk. She looked like she was in need of a friend besides Meg, and they were both outcasts in their own way. They may as well be outcasts together.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NON-CON IS PRESENT IN THIS CHAPTER. ~ DP

Over the course of a few weeks, Tom watched Madeleine from the shadows, observing her every move that she made on the stage, in the wings, and in her and Meg’s room. The only thing that he had learned about her was what he had already known before: she didn’t speak to anyone, and she was a mousy little thing when there were eyes on her. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t approach anyone except Meg, and it angered him when people pushed her around, especially Madame Giry. Meg continued her visits with Tom every few days, sitting in the tunnels with him and watching him eat. One night, she went to him, her basket a little smaller than she cared for it to be, but filled with the usual bread and wine to sustain his hunger for a little while. She sat on the cold stone floor beside him, sharing the bottle. Tom had noticed that she was quiet, and didn’t offer any word on how the day’s rehearsals had gone. He cleared his throat, turning his gaze to her.

 “I have a favor to ask of you,” he said, eating another piece of bread. He waited until she had turned her gaze to him before he spoke again. “I need you to bring me any sort of information that your mother may have on Mademoiselle Cheveux.”

 “May I ask why,” Meg replied, taking another drink of wine before handing the bottle back to him, watching him as he took a drink. “Am I not getting enough information for you? I know you have been watching us.”

 “I have been watching her,” he corrected, setting the bottle of wine aside before looking at her again. “I’m not gaining enough information because she doesn’t speak. She only signs to you, and I don’t see what she’s writing to others from afar, or she chooses not to respond at all. I just want to know what happened to her to cause her to become mute. Also, find out if she has a journal or anything that she writes in when she is alone and bring it to me. Maybe I can gain a bit of insight that way.”

 “Why don’t you just talk to her? You know, actually have a conversation like we have conversations? She can write down her responses, and you know this, Tom.”

 “Because I don’t want to talk to her, at least not yet. Are you going to get me the information, or not?”

 Meg let out a low sigh and stood up, brushing off her tutu and looking down at Tom. “I’ll do what I can, but you know that I can’t make any promises. The files are being secured under lock and key now because of you. They don’t want you snooping around.”

 He let out a sinister chuckle, picking up the bottle of wine and taking a drink before standing up, looking down at her. “It will take more than a lock to keep me out of their records. They would have to burn the theater down in order to keep me out. Come to me tomorrow when you have the information.”

 “I told you that I would do what I can,” she protested, turning away from him. “I won’t be able to get it by tomorrow.”

 Tom grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close, staring down at her with a burning gaze, his patience thin as she argued with him. “What is our rule?”

 Meg swallowed a little, drowning in his gaze. It was so hard not to kiss him, even though he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. She parted her lips, licking them a little. “Do…do not argue with you.”

 “Are you arguing with me?”

 “No, sir.”

 “So I’ll have the information by tomorrow evening,” he asked her as he slowly let go of her arm, letting her take a step back.

 “Yes, sir,” she replied softly, her gaze moving down to her turned out feet, her hands behind her back. He slowly approached her and stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head.

 “Good girl. Now, run along, and do as I asked of you.”

 Meg nodded softly and turned, leaving the tunnel and returning to the vacant dressing room. Tom walked down the passage and went above for his lesson with Christine.

 Meg closed the mirror slowly and made sure that it was locked in place before leaving the vacant dressing room. She knew that she would have to be very cunning and quiet in order to sneak around the opera house while past curfew. Her mother knew, of course, that she often took food and wine to the Phantom, and also knew that Meg was always so careful as to return to her room afterward. She crossed the vacant dressing room and opened the main door, peering outside and around the corner to make sure that no one was near. She heard some distant voices, but found it was nothing for her to be concerned about, as it was merely the stagehands discussing the changing of the scenes for Faust. Opening night was only two days away, and everything was nearly ready for the performance. She closed the door behind her and made her way to the managers’ office, knowing that the files of the employees of the Opera House were stored there. She crossed the corridor, her feet barely touching the floor as she moved quickly.

 When she reached the managers’ office, she placed her small hand on the doorknob and jiggled it. Surprisingly, she found it unlocked and she slowly opened the door, peering inside. The office was in disarray, as if the managers were trying to reorganize all of the files from the financial and the personnel. It would take her hours to sort through them and find Madeleine’s file, if it was there. She entered the room and closed the door behind her, finding a lamp and turning the light up just enough so she could see. She slowly began sorting through the files, reading every bit of information to see what she could find.

 Meanwhile, throughout the Opera House, Christine’s voice could be heard though her door was closed. Madeleine was in the bath, washing her body, lying back in the tub as she listened to Christine’s voice, letting the water soak into her skin. She wished that she had the courage to open her mouth and say something, but she chose not to speak. She chose not to let her voice be heard. Witnessing your parents being murdered will do that to you. Before coming to Paris to live at the Opera House, she vaguely remembered living in the city of New Orleans with her parents. Their home was beautiful, and was in the middle of the French Quarter, which made communicating at certain shops easy. She knew both English and French, as well as a little bit of Creole. She remembered the night that her parents were murdered. She had been in bed for some time, having only the company of her nanny, who was sitting by her bed, reading a book. She awoke only for a moment, but it was a long enough moment. She had noticed that her nanny was gone, and there were screams in the street below, and two shots that rang throughout the city. She stepped out of bed and went over to her balcony. The light of the street lamps illuminated the corpses of her parents, lying bleeding in the street, the money that they had scattered along with the pieces of jewelry that been broken off of her mother’s neck.  She could see that her mother was still alive when the villain began to collect the pieces of jewelry, calling out to her daughter in French to go inside and hide. Those were the last words that she spoke to her. It was in then that the murderer pulled the trigger of the pistol that he was carrying and shot her mother a second time in the forehead, and did the same to her father to be sure that he was dead also. The man took off into the night, and she sunk down onto the balcony then, watching as the blood oozed from the bodies and onto the streets. The police came, and silent tears falling from her cheeks as she remained on the balcony, watching as her parents’ bodies were carted away, and she was left alone until the nanny escorted her to Paris, where they met Madame Giry and she was taken to the Opera House as per her mother and father’s wishes.

 She dipped below the water and closed her eyes, sitting there for a few moments before coming back up, pushing her soaked locks back as she brought her knees to her chest, closing her eyes and crying quietly, shuddering. She hated thinking about her parents, as she never properly grieved. She was too young to understand that her parents had died, and they weren’t coming back, and no one had explained it to her until she was already in Paris and with no hope to return. She didn’t know if her parents had left her anything, except for a journal that she could write in whenever she felt the need. Often, she did feel the need to write, but it was hard to find the time and privacy to write down her thoughts and feelings without having Meg or Madame Giry over her shoulder. The journal was safely tucked away in the room under a floorboard beneath her bed, someplace where no one would find it.

 When the water had cooled and her tears had stopped, she grabbed her towel and stood up, stepping out and draining the water. She dried off and placed the towel on the chair, pulling on her night gown. She had planned to go to bed as soon as she left the bathroom, so she didn’t bother with undergarments. She sat on the chair and worked her fingers through her wet locks, quickly braiding her hair back. Once she had tied the end of it with her ribbon, she stood up and threw her towel into the bin, leaving the bathroom. She stretched and tiptoed through the corridor, and had nearly made it to her room until she was caught by the waist. She nearly screamed until a hand clapped over her mouth, dragging her towards one of the storage rooms for props. Madeleine could tell from the smell of alcohol that it was Joseph Buquet, one of the stagehands who enjoyed the company of ladies, whether they be of the Opera House or of the evening. She didn’t resist, though her eyes were wide as she was frightened. Joseph moved her into the prop room and shut the door, leaving them alone. Joseph was a tall man, young, but because of his taste for alcohol didn’t charm the ladies well. He had a bit of stubble and his hair was pushed back, but his skin was glistening with sweat as if he had been working on the stage.

 “So nice and clean for me,” he grunted, as he moved towards her, pinning her to the wall. “Just out of the bath, little one?”

 She whimpered and squirmed as she tried to get away, but Joseph’s grip was too strong. She gave up and remained still, turning her gaze away.

 “Well, now…surrendering so quickly…” he murmured, pulling at the skirt of her nightgown, lifting it up and exposing her thighs. “Do you consent?”

 She shook her head no and squeezed her eyes shut. She had prayed that this would end quickly, that he would get the image in his mind and leave her alone, but nothing ever seemed enough for him. He chuckled when he shook her head and he took her hand, slipping it into his pants. He was so hard that he was throbbing. This made her wonder if he had been watching her while she was in the bath, and she cringed. She moved to retract her hand, but he gripped her wrist, making sure it remained where it was as his other hand worked his trousers open, groaning as the pressure was relieved from him. “One thing that I love about our little sessions, Madeleine, is that you don’t talk,” he said with a low chuckle, his fingers gliding over her thighs and over her folds, rubbing them softly  as he began to rut against her hand, keeping it wrapped around his sex as he groaned, looking at her. Silent tears began to fall from her eyes again while they were closed, gasping as one of his fingers dipped into her core, whining a little from the friction. “Now, quiet…it won’t take me long…If you would just let me take you, you would enjoy it a lot more,” he said with a grunt, thrusting into her hand more. As he played with her folds, she continued to cry silently, gasping and whimpering. She had still remained untouched with the exception of Joseph’s grimy hands, but she knew that if he continued this, she wouldn’t be pure enough for any man who would have her. But then again, Joseph was right about one thing that he had told her in a previous meeting: it would be a man’s dream as well as a man’s nightmare to have a woman who was a mute as his bride. “Madeleine…” Joseph grunted, gasping as he came, his semen shooting out of him and landing on her thighs, groaning as his thrusts slowed. His fingers played with her for a few more minutes as his got his breathing under control, slowly releasing her wrist. She shuddered and sobbed silently as he finally retracted his hand from her folds, adjusting and buttoning his trousers again, letting the skirt of her nightgown fall. Madeleine slid down to the floor, curling into a ball. Joseph let out a scoff and left her there, alone in the prop room and in the dark.

 Tom’s lesson with Christine had run longer than usual tonight, which didn’t bother him. She was ready to take Carlotta’s role as Marguerite; the problem was now to figure out how to take Carlotta out of the show. He walked through the corridor and stopped to check and see if Meg was still working in the office as she said that she would, but a sound caught in his ear. He looked up toward the upper level of the Opera House, hearing a sound as if someone was crying. He moved away from the managers’ office, and up the flight of the stairs that was nearby, listening intently as the cries grew louder. Tom would have recognized this sound anywhere. The cries were filled with anguish and shame, much like the cries and sobs that he had released so many years ago when he was cursed. When he got to the upper level, there was no one in sight, but the cries had softened, as if someone had heard that someone was near. He remained still for a moment, hearing some shuffling sounds coming from the prop room. He moved towards it, seeing through the dark that the door was opened slightly and he could see someone on the floor, lying still. He placed his hand on the door and slowly pushed it open, looking down at the figure on the floor. He recognized her hair first and he slowly bent down, placing his hand on her hair and stroking softly.

 “Madamoiselle Cheveux,” he murmured questioningly, waiting to see if she would respond in any way. Madeleine only turned her head up towards him, letting out a low sigh before turning her head back to the floor, her eyes fluttering closed. He couldn’t leave her lying there; no one would know that she was there until the morning. He gently and effortlessly picked her up, carrying her back downstairs and to her room, laying her in bed.  The dim light from the lamp illuminated her nightgown a bit more, and he took notice of some stains that were on the fabric that made him uneasy. He decided to stay with her, just to make sure that she was all right, so he pulled up a chair beside her bed, sitting beside it and waiting for her to come to.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence is present in this chapter. And I’m terrible at writing it. I tried my best. This was a difficult chapter to write. ~ DP

It was no more than a few hours later that Madeleine had stirred and slowly woke up from her fainting spell, her hands feeling around on the sheets and the mattress of her bed. How did she get there? She slowly sat up, seeing Meg wasn’t in bed, but the lamp was dimmed. Then he spoke, startling her.

 “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up.”

 She jumped and turned towards him, moving away from him on her bed. Tom put his hands up, showing her that he meant her no harm, standing up from the chair. “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he told her, looking down at her. She slowly relaxed, and Tom sat down in the chair again, looking at her. “However, I would like to know why you were in the prop room alone and crying.” Madeleine looked at him, cocking her head to the side as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. “I know you can understand me, Mademoiselle Cheveux,” he continued, sitting back in the chair in a relaxed manner, his hands folded over his crossed legs as he studied her, watching her closely as she slowly moved towards him, sitting in the center of the bed. “No one knows that I’m here, and I have Meg running an errand for me. As far as anyone is concerned, who is up at this late hour, you’re still in the prop room, lying on the floor. Now…will you tell me what happened?” She looked around towards her vanity, where she kept a pen and paper to write her responses for those who couldn’t understand her signs. Tom turned his head, his eyes catching the objects and he turned, picking them up and turning back towards her, handing her the pen and paper. She looked down, and scrawled something quickly, showing it to him.

  _Why do you want to know what happened to me in the prop room?_

 “Do you realize what I can do,” he asked, his tone becoming more hushed and slightly more annoyed with her doubt in him. He understood that she feared him; everyone did. It wasn’t the fear of everyone that bothered him. It was her inability to trust him. “I can help keep you safe. I know you may not think that you need protection, but you do, my dear. So, tell me what happened,” he said, sitting back in the chair. She looked at him, and then looked down at the paper, starting to write something down. He noticed that she stopped a few times, swallowing as she continued to write. She was trying to be strong, trying not to cry in front of him. She stopped after a few lines were written, and she handed him the paper.

  _I was in the prop room because I was grabbed and taken there against my will. This is a routine after my bath, after rehearsal, and sometimes when I sneak out of my room at night when I’m not caught by Madame Giry._

 Tom handed the paper back to her, looking at her. “That doesn’t tell me what happened. Mademoiselle, I saw the stains on your nightgown. I could tell by your cries that you were in pain. I don’t mean to push you, but please…I need to know so I can protect you, so this…whatever happened doesn’t happen again.” She didn’t want to write what happened. He knew that she didn’t want to, but it was better than holding it in. She wrote slowly as she tried to keep her composure, her hand trembling. After a few moments of writing, she stopped, and pushed the paper towards him, lying down on the bed, her head buried in her pillow to muffle her sobs. Tom picked up the paper, reading it to himself.

  _It has been going on for months. He pulls me in and touches me and makes me touch him. I have to hold my hand against him, feel him rut against me until he finishes. I don’t like it, but I have remained pure. No one would believe the mute, he says, so why should I tell anyone?_

 Tom lowered the paper onto the bed, watching her as she cried. He let out a low growl as he tried to remain in control of his anger, reaching his hand out and gently stroking her hair again. “Shh…” he consoled, remaining seated in the chair as he continued to stroke her hair. Her hair, even braided, was so soft to the touch that it felt good against his calloused and tired hands. He leaned down, whispering in her ear as her cries began to soften. “Give me a name, Madeleine. Give me his name, and I swear to you, he will never hurt you again.”

 Madeleine slowly looked up from her pillow, her face close to his, so close that she could faintly make out her reflection on the porcelain mask that the wore. He slowly handed her the paper and pen, his gaze not leaving hers. She could tell that he was sincere, and true to his word. If he was really has powerful as everyone said that he was, maybe he could help her. She took the pen and paper in her hand, writing down the name. Tom could see it through the dim lighting of the room, the lamp close to going out.

  _Buquet. Joseph Buquet._

 Tom took the paper and pen when she had finished writing, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket and setting the pen on the vanity. He turned to her again, looking at her. “You have nothing to fear from him anymore. I swear to you,” he told her softly, moving some of her hair back behind her ear. “He will be dealt with accordingly. Now, I will leave you to rest,” he said, standing up from the chair and fixing his jacket. As he turned to leave, she reached up, grabbing his sleeve to stop him. He turned slightly towards her, looking down at her. “What is it,” he asked, unsure of what she wanted. He watched as her eyes moved towards the chair, then back up to him. “You want me to stay with you? Sit with you until Meg returns? I don’t know what good I’ll do. You’ll be asleep again soon.” She nodded and lied down, resting her head on the pillow after she let go of his sleeve. He sat back down in the chair, looking at her. “I’m not sure how I can help you sleep, except just to be here for you.” She smiled a little. It was a small smile, but it was a smile. That was what she wanted; just some company until Meg came back. He sat with her, watching as she closed her eyes, curled up in the bed. He reached over and picked up the quilt that her feet were resting on, unfolding it and draping it over her body carefully so he wouldn’t disturb her. He sat back down in the chair, watching as her breathing became slow, even and deep within moments of closing her eyes. He studied her features. She was pretty, and her skin was soft and fair, but still he wondered about her ability to speak. He hoped that Meg had completed her task. She had fallen asleep, so he moved quietly, standing up again and moving towards the door. To his surprise, the door opened and Meg let out a gasp, dropping the files that she was carrying, the papers scattering across the floor. Tom clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her, so not to wake Madeleine, shushing her. Once she was quiet, he lowered his hand and bent down with her, helping her to pick up the papers from the files. “I just got her back to sleep, Meg,” he told her, as if he were scolding her from nearly waking her. “What were you thinking?”

 “I went to the tunnel and when I didn’t find you there waiting for me, I came back,” she said angrily in a hushed voice, putting the files back together as nearly as she could before standing back up. “What in the hell are you doing here, in our room, alone with her?!”

 “Something happened to her, and I can’t tell you what, but I can tell you that I’m going to handle it,” he replied, taking the files from her before taking her out into the corridor, pushing her against the wall. “You know the drill. I wasn’t here. Tell Madeleine that she was dreaming. I know she won’t believe you, but you still have to tell her. I can’t get close to her, and she can’t get close to me.”

 “This is ridiculous! Just be her friend. God knows that she needs one more and one being as powerful as you –“

 “I’m poison and dangerous to her, Meg. Just wait until you find out what happened to the person who hurt her. You’ll see why I need to stay away from her.”

 “Tom, I’m going to tell you something because I’m your friend, and I want you to know this information. She is not going to let this go. She will find you if she has to sneak out every night to find you. She’s stubborn when you get to know her.”

 “I’m not planning on her getting to know me, or me getting to know her. I’ll disappear if I have to,” he said, turning away from and walking away. “Thanks for the files,” he called, disappearing into a secret passage back down to the lair.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Meg was right. Madeleine didn’t let the subject go. When Meg went to bed that evening, she watched her sleep, wondering how she could sleep so soundly after whatever had happened to her. She slept until dawn when Madeleine woke her up, shaking her and signing frantically. She told Meg about the Phantom being in their room, talking about protecting her and being kind. The only thing that Meg could respond with was that it was all a dream, and Madeleine was frustrated that no one believed her, not even her only friend in the entire Opera House. However, if Tom said it was for her safety and protection, and then she didn’t have a choice. She had a feeling that something was going to happen during rehearsal that day, either involving Madeleine or someone else. And she was right.

 In the middle of the dress rehearsal, just hours before the curtain was due to open, a rope broke and the sandbag dropped from the highest catwalk, colliding with Christine and one of the rehearsal mirrors, shattering it to pieces. Christine was knocked to the floor and was unconscious for a few moments, Meg getting her to come to and walking her to her dressing room. Carlotta was sure to vent her frustration about how the company was falling apart before they continued on with the rehearsal. While the rehearsal continued, Tom watched from above, stalking Joseph. He had taken blame for the sandbag falling when he was in front of the company, but after rehearsal, as they were preparing the stage for the performance that evening, he and the other stagehands were having a bit of a debate on who was really to blame for the accident.

 “A ghost, Joseph,” one asked as he pulled one of the sets up and locked in place by the ropes at his hand. “It’s just a legend,” he said with a chuckle.

 “Laugh while you can, but I’ve seen him in the dark of night, and during rehearsals on the catwalks. He’s got eyes like fire and he wears a death mask for a face.”

 “Oh, come off it,” the other said, turning towards Joseph with his hand on the rope. “You know what I think? I think you were getting an eyeful of that little ballet dancer you’ve been watching so much, or even possibly Christine. You had your hand down your trousers when you should have been watching the ropes.”

 “Go to hell,” Joseph replied, pulling a bottle of alcohol out of his pocket, opening it and taking a drink. The other two stagehands shook their heads and turned, leaving Joseph alone. Joseph exhaled quietly after a long drink of the alcohol, closing the bottle and slipping it back into his pocket. Tom stood behind him, carefully and silently following him, calling Joseph’s name to taunt him. Joseph could hear his name quietly bouncing off the walls, making him turn around a few times to see if he was followed while he climbed to the highest catwalk to repair the broken rope and to make sure that the sets were changed and secure before the performance. Tom waited in the shadows for the perfect moment to drop down and confront Joseph. Once the rope was replaced and Joseph took the bottle out of his pocket again, Tom stepped down, startling Joseph and causing him to step back.

 “Yes,” Tom said with a low growl to his voice, looking at Joseph with a smirking sneer. “Let’s have that drink,” he directed, moving his hand out for the bottle. Joseph smiled nervously and slowly handed the bottle to the Phantom, watching as Tom opened it, his gaze staying on him and Tom’s gaze staying on Joseph. “So, your bumbling was the work of…a ghost,” he asked, pocketing the cap and taking a long drink.

 “No, no,” Joseph replied, taking a small step closer when he figured that the Phantom didn’t seem to mean him any harm. “It was just an accident. The rope broke, and the bag fell.”

 Tom glanced at him, slowly lowering the bottle from his lips, swallowing the liquor. “But you blamed me,” he said softly, his voice angry as he tossed the bottle over the catwalk and Joseph watched as it made the quick descent to the stage below, shattering when it hit. Tom watched as Joseph swallowed, and began to tremble, looking at the Phantom and realizing that he was soon to meet the end of his employment at Opera House.

 “It won’t happen again,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he gently gripped at the rope, swallowing a bit. “I promise.”

 “Oh, believe me, I know that it won’t,” Tom replied, pulling his gloves a bit to make sure that they were on properly, looking at Joseph. “I also know that you won’t come near Madeleine again.”

 “Madeleine? What does she have to do this?”

 “You know perfectly well what she has to do with this.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow, and then laughed, shaking his head. “The mute told you? How did she tell you? Did she sign it to you while she whimpered and cried? Or did she write it on a piece of paper and pray that the Phantom would dispose of me?”

 “I’ll dispose of you later,” Tom growled, glaring at Joseph. “But for now…you’re suspended.”

 Before Joseph could react, Tom kicked him over the catwalk, watching as Joseph’s foot was caught in the ropes and tangled as he fell down towards the stage. Joseph’s screams for help echoed throughout the empty wings of the stage, the rope stopping him from hitting the stage. Tom went over to the lever that was holding the backdrop which the rope that had entangled Joseph was attached to, and pulled it down with ease, causing the backdrop to go down and Joseph to rise up again. Joseph began to beg for his life as Tom withdrew his dagger from his pocket and unsheathed it, waiting for the proper moment for Joseph to return to his level. Once he saw the belt of his trousers, Tom drew back and quickly pushed the dagger in, letting Joseph’s body do the rest of the work as he glided down from his navel to the base of his throat, blood spurting from the wound and covering Tom’s face and clothes. Joseph let out a low, gurgling sound, but he wasn’t quite dead. Tom slowly withdrew the knife and cleaned it with a handkerchief before bring Joseph’s limp and nearly lifeless body back over to the catwalk, cutting the rope to get him loose. He laid Joseph on the catwalk and withdrew his scalpel from his pocket, starting to make precise cuts along the edge of his hairline and slowly, painfully peeling the skin away. Tom licked his lips at the beauty of his work, slowly working Joseph over until he had peeled and disposed of the skin, looking down at Joseph. “It’s painful, isn’t it,” he asked, slowly examining the scalpel before cleaning it, noticing that Joseph’s breathing was becoming swallower with every passing moment. “Don’t worry; you won’t be in pain much longer,” he said, picking Joseph up effortlessly and throwing him over his shoulder, descending the catwalks down to the stage. “It’s disappointing, Joseph. I would have possibly overlooked this mishap today if you hadn’t insulted me and if you hadn’t attacked Madeleine. I could have castrated you, and watched you bleed out above the stage and watched as your friends discovered your body, but I’m not going to allow that. Christine is due to take the stage as Marguerite, and you’re going help her get there.” He turned a corner towards the dressing rooms and walked towards the one marked for La Carlotta, turning the handle with his free hand. Finding that the room was unlocked and empty, he pushed the door open and carried Joseph inside, going over to Carlotta’s closet and opening it, suspending Joseph inside. “Whether she finds you when you’re dead or still barely alive doesn’t matter to me. Just give her a good scare.” Tom grinned sinisterly and patted Joseph on what would have been his cheek prior to the skinning and closed the closet door, leaving the dressing room otherwise undisturbed, returning to the walls to clean up and prepare Christine for the performance.


	6. Chapter 5

Just a few hours after the hanging of Joseph in the wardrobe, Carlotta returned to her dressing room with her seamstress and maid, having the maid draw a bath while the seamstress stripped her down. “Make sure that you have dress taken in tonight, Esther,” she instructed, carefully stepping into the tub and sinking into the warm water and the bubbles, sighing contently at the warmth of the water and the smell of the lavender bath oil. “It’s fitted for a sow.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Esther, the seamstress replied with a curtsy and disappeared, laying the dress out and getting the first costume out that she would need for Marguerite from the door that it hung from in front of the wardrobe. Carlotta knew that she was spoiled by the managers; therefore, she could take as long as she wanted as far as preparing for the evening’s opera. There was a gentle knock on the door as Carlotta raised her leg out of the water, wiping it with the washcloth that was there. Esther went to answer the door, inviting the guest in. It was Firmin, one of the new managers, carrying a large bouquet of roses and a folded document in his hand. He removed his top hat and coat and gave it to Esther, stepping further into the dressing room.

 “Ah, Mr. Firmin, come in” Carlotta greeted with a soft smile, lowering her leg back into the water and sitting up, being careful not to expose herself through the water or bubbles. Firmin took his gloves off, and then took the hand that she had extended for him and kissed the top of it, catching the fresh smell of the lavender oil. “How lovely it is to see you.”

“Miss Carlotta, you are a vision,” Firmin replied with a soft smile, dropping her hand to sit beside the bathtub, showing her the roses. Carlotta smiled and smelled them before having Esther take them from Firmin’s hands, putting them into a vase. “I was hoping that we could talk for a bit before the opera began. I have been a fan of yours for some time, and I’m looking forward to working with you, as well as my partner, Mr. Andre, and our main investor, the Vicomte de Changy.”

“Of course. You can get my back while you are here,” she said, dismissing Esther with a wave of her hand, turning her back to Firmin and handing him the washcloth. Firmin secretly thought of how easy it would be to take Carlotta, here, alone in her dressing room, but knew it wouldn’t be proper to attack the diva in such a way that it would leave them both reeling. As the door closed, a sign that the maid and Esther had stepped out of the room to give them privacy so they could talk, Firmin began to wash her back as she said, “Those roses are lovely. They’ll certainly brighten up this rat’s nest that you call a dressing room.”

“Carlotta,” Firmin said in a polite tone, trying not to become too annoyed too quickly with her. “This is the best room in the whole opera house.” As much of a fan he was of hers, he wasn’t overly excited about dealing with her prima donna ways, or her attitude. Yes, she had the experience, and the following that they would need to make money at the opera house, but was it worth dealing with the constant demands and her showing up late to rehearsals and performances?

 “Then the house is lacking,” she said, which sent a jolt through Firmin and he bit his lower lip, holding back his temper once again.

 “I have your new contract here, and I think you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

 “A larger room would be better. I barely have room for all of my things.”

 “Yes, well, we can discuss the finer points later, in good faith,” Firmin said as he continued to wash Carlotta’s back, giving her a soft smile that he knew that she couldn’t see.

 “That is for the good and faithful,” she said with a smile in return, then slowly turned around, looking up at Firmin from her position in the water. It was this moment that she went in for what she really wanted, and she knew that Firmin would be able to give it to her, even with the Vicomte’s and the partner’s protests. “That young lady, Christine…I want her back in the chorus.”

 Firmin sighed and rolled his eyes at the request, shaking his head. “She was lucky enough to play Seibel, Carlotta. To you, she’s just an understudy.”

 “I want her out,” she said again, her tone more commanding and her gaze tearing through Firmin. Firmin leaned in close, staring at Carlotta.

 “Don’t tempt me, Carlotta. I could drown you too easily.”

 “Better to be submerged in bath water than in mediocrity, don’t you agree,” she replied with a smirk, knowing that Firmin would end up complying in the end if he wanted her to sign her contract. In frustration, Firmin threw the washcloth back into the tub, landing with a splash as he quickly stood up, his frustration seeping through.

 “All you have to do is sign,” he shouted, having left the contract on the floor beside the bathtub. The door opened, a sign that Esther had returned and Carlotta gave Firmin a smug look of victory as Esther stepped into the room, getting the towel for her.

 “I’ll sing, Mr. Firmin. Please…do think about what I said. Esther!” she called, beckoning the girl forward. Esther came forward as Barton left the room, holding the towel up to shield Carlotta as she stepped out of the bathtub, taking the towel and wrapping it around her body. The door opened and closed again, Firmin having left the room completely to go to his box for the opera. “Esther, don’t forget about my dress,” she reminded, and Esther nodded, gathering up the dress and leaving the room once more. Now, Carlotta was alone, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, letting out a low sigh as she touched her face, frowning a little. She was getting older, and her voice wasn’t the same as it once was in her glory days. The little girl named Christine was just who she was afraid of. If she remained in the principle roles, she would soon become more popular and get her roles, and Carlotta would eventually fade into the background, with the chorus and the light of her fame would disappear. She could not let that happen. She turned away from the mirror and walked towards the wardrobe, her foot catching on something, causing her to slip and catch herself on the wardrobe door, gasping as she did so. “Esther!” she called, thinking that there was water on the floor from her bath that Esther had missed. When Esther didn’t come, she looked down, noticing that it wasn’t water on the floor. It was blood. She looked around the room once more before slowly approaching the wardrobe that again, afraid of what she might find. She timidly reached out and touched the handle of the wardrobe, turning it and slowly opening the door.

 The light revealed the skinned body of Joseph Buquet, and the only thing Carlotta could muster from her mouth was horrified gasps. Until Joseph’s head lifted and his eyes opened, and with his last gasp pleaded for help. He reached out and grabbed Carlotta’s towel and she screamed, her towel coming unraveled around her as she tried to get away from the mutilated body, her screams continuing as she moved to the couch, grabbing a quilt and concealing herself, watching as Joseph’s grip remained on the towel, but his body went limp, and he was dead. Carlotta continued to scream until her voice was hoarse and she couldn’t speak. The cries finally gained the attention of those outside, and men came rushing in, and Carlotta, overcome with the shock, fainted there on the couch.

 ———————————-

 Tom smirked from behind the wall as he heard Carlotta’s voice screech into nothingness, playing with the now cleaned knife. Putting his knife away, he used the corridors to travel up to Box Five, pulling the file on Madeleine and browsing through it while he walked. He held the file in his hand, reading through a tattered newspaper article on the death of her parents in New Orleans. It was a violent robbery and murder, and the villain was never caught. Madeleine was only six at the time, and then she was brought back over the ocean to Calais, then to Paris and to Madame Giry’s care. This made him wonder how much she remembered of her parents’ death, or living in New Orleans. He read the obituaries next, finding that her mother was an actress, and she and her husband, who was her manager, were in the process of starting an opera house in New Orleans. They were coming home from a night at the theater in Baton Rouge, and were literally steps from their door when they were attacked. He remembered her mother’s name when she sang for the opera in London and in Paris, where she met her husband, who was an American. They had a whirlwind courtship and an elopement back to America, where they remained until they died. The mother could be a way in, he thought, stepping out into the corridor and into his box, sitting down as he continued to read over the papers that were found.

 The next thing that he read was her personnel paperwork that Madame Giry had written up over the years from the time that she was a child and she was training in the ballet corps. “Hard worker…good learner…” he murmured to himself, flipping through to some of the newer information. “Insubordinate…? Out of bed after curfew…late to rehearsals…lacking passion that she once had…” He moved to put the file aside when another piece of paper fell out of the file. Tom stopped, leaning down to pick it up, finding it was an opened letter from the former nanny that had brought her to Paris. He opened it delicately and read through it. It was dated ten years prior, and from what Tom had gathered while reading the letter, Madeleine would have been about seventeen at the time.

  _Dear Madame Giry,_

_Not a day has gone by that I don’t think about my darling little Madeleine. I have missed her over these years since I brought her to you, but now I am old and frail, and cannot journey to Paris to see her one last time. I have some information that I would like you to have, and please pass this information onto Madeleine when you feel the time is right._

_Madeleine has a trust that was set up by her parents when she was born. It is at the bank in Paris. By now, I’m sure the trust has accrued a fair amount of money, enough for Madeleine to begin her own life and find a husband so she won’t have to remain at the opera house. Next year, when she is eighteen years of age, she will be able to use the trust however she wishes. Madeleine’s parents only wished for her to be happy, and I hope that she still is._

_In the letter that you wrote to me, you said that Madeleine, in all of the years that she has been there, has never spoken a word to anyone, not even you or your daughter, who you said she was close with. She can speak English and French. I believe that she hasn’t spoken to anyone because at the time of her parents’ death, her mother was teaching her to sing. She had also witnessed her parents being murdered and because of the shock, she couldn’t call for help. She was so small at the time that she couldn’t call out for help. Not speaking to anyone is her way of coping with the situation. Do your best to get her to talk. If you must, please show her this letter. I hope that this would bring her out of it._

_Please give her my love._

 Tom folded the letter, and began to wonder if Madame Giry had ever shown Madeleine this letter. It answered why she was badgering Madeleine that night when she was breaking curfew while being on the stage and dancing. The orchestra began to tune up and he slipped all of the papers back into the folder, watching the stage intently as one of the ushers came out, announcing that Carlotta had fallen ill and that her understudy, Christine Daae, would be in the role of Marguerite. Tom smiled with a sense of victory, sitting back and watching as the opera began.


	7. Chapter 6

As the overture of the opera began, Madeleine was roaming the wings, finding it odd that no one was in their places as they should have been when the lights went down. When she decided to investigate, she was nearly knocked over by rushing constables carrying a stretcher. She caught herself on the wall, noticing the chorus members and some stagehands gathered around Carlotta’s dressing room door, some of them whispering indistinctly and some of the young girls sobbing quietly at the sight that they had caught within the room. Madeleine regained herself and joined the crowd, finding Meg. She tapped on her shoulder to get her attention, and Meg turned. Madeleine pulled her away from the crowd, noticing that Meg was surprisingly unemotional. 

_What happened_ , she signed to her, glancing back at the room before looking at Meg again.

 “There’s been…an accident,” she said softly, looking back towards the room as the crowd parted, and an overwrought Carlotta was escorted out, ranting in a strained and near silent voice about the Opera Ghost claiming another victim to anyone who would listen or attempt to listen to her. Madeleine turned to Meg once more. “There was a body found her wardrobe, and she was the one who found it.”

  _Who was it?_

 “Madeleine…mind you, the body was…”  


_Just tell me who it was, Meg_ , she signed calmly. Meg sighed, looking back at the room before back at Madeleine.

 “They say that it was Joseph Buquet,” she said softly, pulling her away as the crowd began to disperse back to their places backstage. “His body was mangled. Skinned, I heard. Carlotta told the constable that she opened the door and he was just hanging there, and she wasn’t sure how he got there. However, I think you do know how he got there.”

 Madeleine did know, but she didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to think about the fact that the Phantom had murdered in her name. Why would he risk putting himself in danger because of her? He barely knew her. She looked up as Meg’s mother came around the corner and quietly ushered them back to the wings to watch the opera, and prepare for the ballet.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the evening went off without any accidents or problems for the cast and crew of the opera house. Tom had watched until the ballet had finished, his attention never straying from Madeleine the entire time that she was on stage. However, he was far from finished with his tasks above his home. He left the box just after the ballet had finished and gathered Madeleine’s file, leaving his usual calling card for the ushers: a single red rose.

 He descended the stairs and waited in the shadows for the opera to finish and everyone had left or returned to their rooms. Carlotta’s room had been roped off from prying eyes as a few remaining reporters and constables finished their work, the constables gathering what evidence they could and the reporters writing their stories for the papers the next morning. While he waited, the words of the former nanny rang in his mind. Why did Madeleine stay after all of this time? Was the money still there? Why didn’t Madame Giry pass along the letter to her? He watched as she walked by with Meg, hearing Meg’s low voice speaking to her in a kind way, patting her on the shoulder. “Let’s get some rest; we don’t need to think about that horrible man anymore tonight. He’s dead, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

 Tom peered around the corner of the wall that he stood behind, watching as Madeleine signed back to Meg her reply. He wondered what her voice sounded like, wondered if she ever spoke when no one was around to hear her do so. Meg had smiled a little, ushering her back into their bedroom and following her inside, closing the door behind her. He would come back and visit her later, but for now, he had business to take care of. He left the sanctuary of the shadows and traveled below to the chapel that had been built there by his request for Christine, finding Madame Giry standing there, as if she were waiting for him, her hand firmly gripping her cane as they stared each other down. After a few moments of silence, she reached out with her free hand, moving her fingers back and forth as she looked at the file, a gesture that she wanted it back. He continued to stare her down as he placed the file in her hand and she yanked it back to her care, holding it to her chest.

 “I don’t appreciate you having my daughter do your dirty work, Thomas,” she spat, preparing to move past him when he stepped in front of her, looking down at her.

 “I don’t appreciate you being so cruel to a young woman who hasn’t done a thing to you, Madame.”

“She’s a con-artist.”

 “She’s a woman with quite an inheritance according to the letter that you never gave her! She doesn’t deserve to be treated as if she came from the gutter!”

 “If she would actually speak and stand up for herself after her parents being dead for over twenty years, I wouldn’t be cruel to her!”

 He wanted to slap her for her insolence. He wanted to inflict pain upon her, and make her regret speaking so harshly to him and about Madeleine in this manner. But he didn’t. He refrained from his actions, but the tension bore down upon him as he clenched his jaw and grit his teeth, his stare boiling with anger upon her. “You could have given her the letter, told her that she had a trust at the bank here in the city. Why didn’t you?”

 “I went to claim the money, but there was nothing left,” she told him, moving around him to leave the chapel. “The bank told me that someone had been there before me, some sort of debt that the father had and people came to collect it. That was the only asset that the family had left. Why would I have given her a letter if it didn’t pertain to anything?”

 Tom turned as she moved past him, studying her. He sensed that she wasn’t telling the complete truth, and that there was something that she was keeping from him. “You still should have told her, Madame. As her guardian, you should have made the right decision and told her what this nanny said pertaining to her and to her family.”

 “It’s difficult enough being in charge of a dormitory full of young girls that are doing things that young girls shouldn’t be doing and that are going to end up in a brothel or worse. I can’t keep in charge of a twenty-seven year old who is more than capable of taking care of herself. I don’t want this to be her last season with us, Thomas, but she needs to either become a prima ballerina or a singer to take over the understudy role for Christine. She won’t open her mouth to speak up for herself, so she’ll have to resort to something else.”

 “What if I can get her to talk?”

 “Excuse me,” she said, turning towards him once more. “No one can get her to talk, not even my daughter. What makes you think that you can get her to talk?”

 “I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I can try. Give me until the New Year, and if I don’t get her to talk, we’ll leave. We’ll find another haven for both of us.”

 “And if you do get her to talk?”

 “Then we’ll stay here, and you will leave my affairs to me, including the errands that I have your daughter run for me. You will also leave Madeleine and her affairs alone.”

 “Either way, she wouldn’t be my ward anymore.”

 “She hasn’t been your ward since she was eighteen years old when she became an adult in the eyes of the law,” he said, moving past her and up the stairs. “You don’t care about her, Madame, so why should it matter if she is still considered to be your ward? Oh…and if I find out that you stole that money from her trust, Madame, you better be prepared for hell to rain down upon you.” With that, Tom left her there, traveling through the passageways and back up to the dormitories, watching the girls in the dorms from behind the wall. Madame Giry stayed put for a moment, then traveled up the stairs with the file in hand, quietly walking through the corridors and to the managers’ office, locking the file away. She sighed, and quietly returned to her room, locking the door behind her once she entered.

 The room of the ballet mistress was small and private, far away from the girls’ dormitories to give them just enough privacy when it was needed. Decorated in the finest Persian fabrics and materials, she sat on the chaise lounge and reached behind her dresser, withdrawing a thick, leather-bound ledger, untying and opening it. Inside the ledger, hidden within the hollowed out pages, was the large sum of money from Madeleine’s trust. None of it had been spent on her, Madeleine or Meg, but she kept it for the reason that as the ballet mistress, she didn’t make a lot of money. When Madeleine was her ward, she received a small sum to go towards the expenses for Madeleine and her care, but she kept it and spent it when she felt the need to. Meg was more important to her than Madeleine was, and on occasion, she did buy Madeline a new dress and food, but the money only went so far. Yes, she had become greedy, and that was why she had closed the trust in Madeleine’s name, for all those years of taking care of her with barely any reimbursement for the expenses. Now the question was to reopen the trust in Madeleine’s name or to keep the money for herself and have her and Meg finally escape from under the roof of the opera house.

 

* * *

 

The opera house had become quiet and dark as Madeleine lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She was replaying the evening in her mind; the discovery of Joseph Buquet’s body, the opera, and the ballet…besides the death, everything else was perfectly normal. Even the presence of the Opera Ghost had become a normal attribute of the evenings and days anymore. She listened to Meg’s slow and even breathing as she slept, turning her head slightly to make sure that she was asleep before turning her head back up to the ceiling, drumming her fingers softly on the edge of the bed. She wanted to get up and go into Carlotta’s dressing room to examine it, to look at the wardrobe that the body was hanging in. Finally, when the clock chimed one in the morning, she slowly and quietly rose from the bed, pulling her robe on and tying it. She opened the door and quickly snuck out of the room, leaving the door open as she tiptoed down the hallway and down the stairs to the second floor. She stopped as she turned, gasping quietly as she stopped herself against the wall, finding that she was staring into the bright blue eyes of the Opera Ghost once again. He put his finger up to her lips, shushing her and moving his hand to her arm, moving it up and down to calm her down.

 “Sneaking out yet again, Madeleine? Let me guess: you want to see Carlotta’s dressing room, don’t you?” When she nodded, he shook his head and gently took her arm in his hand, walking her quietly back upstairs to her and Meg’s room. “That is an image that you don’t need to see. The body may be gone, but the blood is still there. Do you really want to have the nightmares of that image of that horrid man dying in that room?” When she didn’t respond with a sign or a gesture of the head, he continued, “I thought not. I have a favor to ask of you.”

 She stopped and turned to him when they were only steps away from her room, placing her hand on her chest as if to say ‘me.’

 “Yes, I’m asking a favor of you. I would like to learn how to communicate with you aside from paper and pen. Would you teach me your signs so I’ll be able to understand you and you can sign freely?”

 She looked up at him, a faint blush of pink coming to her cheeks. He smiled softly and reached into his pocket, handing her a piece of parchment and a pen with ink in it already, one that he had lifted from the managers’ office. She took it in her hands, pressing the paper to the wall and writing on it, the dimmed light from the lamps helping her to see. She handed the paper back to him, and he read what she had written out loud.

 “ _’What do you want in exchange of learning my language?’_ Well, nothing. I’ll just…I’ll just tell you something about me after each lesson. You won’t have to sign or respond in any way. You’ll just have to listen while I talk. Does that sound reasonable enough?”

 Madeleine thought for a few moments, contemplating on teaching the Opera Ghost how to understand her when she signed to him. She took the paper back and wrote a response, handing it back to him.

 “ _’Well, it would be nice having someone else in this place understand me besides Meg.’_ ” He smiled, tucking the paper away before turning her and placing his hand in the small of her back, escorting her to the door her room. “I couldn’t agree more, to be honest. I believe that it’s time that you’ve had another friend. Now, we will start the lessons tomorrow evening after everyone is asleep. I’ll come to you and take you somewhere private where we won’t be interrupted.”

 Madeleine smiled a little and nodded in understanding. Tom’s hand glided from the small of her back and to her hand, slowly taking it and lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss upon the back. “Goodnight, Madeleine,” he said gently, then turned, departing and disappearing into the dark and the shadows. She blushed more after he left, but turned and walked into her room, closing the door and returning to her bed.


	8. Chapter 7

The next evening, after the second performance of _Faust_ , Madeleine showered and changed her clothes into a gown that she had owned for a long time, tying the front of it. It was a modest gown, so she wouldn’t tempt the Opera Ghost. Meg came in, noticing that she had changed and was fixing her hair. “And where are you off to, Miss Madeleine,” she asked, sitting on the bed and watching her. Madeleine turned around, signing to her.

  _I’m meeting someone._

“Who are you meeting,” Meg prodded, crossing her legs and continuing to watch Madeleine get ready for her meeting. Madeleine sighed a little, turning back to Meg and sitting on the bed.

_I’m meeting the Opera Ghost. He wants to learn my signs so we can communicate._

Meg blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. “No. It can’t be true.”

_Well, that’s what he told me last night when I saw him. He caught me sneaking out again when I tried to see the dressing room._

“Well, just watch out for him. He’s just like Buquet. The only difference is that he is temptation, just like the snake was in the garden with Eve. As I’ve warned you before, if you cross him, he will hurt you or hurt someone that you love. I’ve given you fair warning. So go on – go see the Phantom.”

_Meg…why are you acting like this? I thought you would be happy for me for gaining a new friend._

“I am happy for you. I just don’t want to see your body hanging in a corridor.”

Madeleine frowned, slightly hurt by Meg’s words. What did she say that was so wrong that Meg would become so angry? She turned back to her vanity and finished fixing her hair, pinning it back into a braided bun. She walked to the door, but stopped, turning back to Meg and signing to her.

_I’ll ask your mother to place me in a different room in the morning if you’re not happy with my choices._

 Meg blinked and stood up to stop her, but Madeleine left the room, closing the door behind her. She needed to go somewhere quiet to think about what had just happened. She moved down to the lower levels, going into the chapel. The chapel was empty and quiet, a few candles burned in remembrance of those that had died in the Opera House, as well as some of the parents of some of the girls who housed there. She sat in the quiet, lighting a few more candles, closing her eyes and pushing all of the thoughts from her mind.

 Meanwhile, back upstairs in the bedroom, Meg was pacing and muttering angrily, jealous of Madeleine and her being alone with Tom. “Signing lessons…it can’t be true. Thomas wouldn’t do that to me,” she muttered, pacing back and forth. She did not know that Tom had watched the whole scene between them unfold before his eyes from behind the mirror. He slid the mirror open, stepping out of the hidden passageway from behind it.

 “Jealousy does not become you, Meg,” he said sternly, folding his arms in front of him. She gasped and turned around quickly, leaning against the wall. “How dare you act like that towards her?”

 “How dare you not tell me that you were going to be alone with her? I have every right to know if you’re going to be alone with her or not.”

 “If I remember correctly, Miss Giry, it was you who was pushing me to gain another friend. We both need each other right now, and she needs me more than ever because of you and your jealousy, you have pushed her away.”

 “I was just angry because you didn’t tell me first. I didn’t mean to take it out on her.”

 “And you called me temptation, as if I were the Devil himself. Believe me, Meg, I have met the Devil, and you have no idea what he is like or what true temptation is like.” He took off his mask, approaching her and staring her down. “Do you see this,” he asked her as she cowered slightly from his face, looking away from him. He grasped her jaw and turned her gaze back to him, growling slightly. “Do you see this?! This is the price of what it cost me to have my music beloved by the world. I made a deal with the Devil and I gave him my soul and my face so my music would be loved!” Meg whimpered quietly, pulling herself away from him and sinking down to the floor, crying softly. He watched as she turned into a ball, weeping like a small child who was lost, hiding her face from him. He put his mask back on, still looking down at her. “Tomorrow, before rehearsals, you will apologize to her and tell her that you wish her to be happy no matter her choices. Do you understand?” When she nodded, he departed through the mirror, going to find Madeleine.

 He traveled through the passageways and down to the chapel, where he found her sitting on the floor, in a pale pink gown and her brown hair pulled back into a braided bun. She seemed deep in reflection as she sat in the quiet. He almost didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew that their lessons had to take place if he was going to win the deal between him and Madame Giry. He moved behind the stained glass window that sealed off, and his shadow caught her eye. He opened the window and stepped into the chapel, and Madeleine stood, curtsying before him. “No need for that,” he said gently, and she straightened herself, watching as Tom removed his cloak and laid it on the floor, sitting upon it. She moved and sat beside him. “Shall we begin,” he asked, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and getting a pen and parchment out, handing it to her. “This is for only for telling me what you’re going to show me. Do you understand?” Madeleine nodded, writing on the paper.

  _We’ll start with my name and your name. What is it?_

 “My name? It’s Thomas or Tom for short.” He watched her as she spelled out his name in her signs, loving how beautifully her hands moved through the air. She spelled his full name first, then the shortened name, gesturing that he try. He tried and clumsily got the first few letters, then laughed, stopping himself. She showed him again, a little slower this time. “You’ve had a lot more practice at this than I have,” he said, complimenting her on her technique. She smiled a little and gestured that he tried again. This time, he spelled the shortened version of his name, and she applauded him quietly, then gestured that he watch, and she spelled out her name. He watched her again, completely mesmerized by her hands. He wondered what it would be like to hold them in his. When she had finished, he tried with her name, but he fumbled more than he did with his own name. She held her hand up to stop him, slowly taking his hand and showing him how to make the signs with his fingers first, then showed him how to move his hands while making the signs. They worked on this for a while, and then they moved onto other words, focusing on music, poetry, food, and book titles. When it was growing close to dawn, he stopped the lessons, handing her the parchment and pen. She took it, writing.

  _You did very well for your first night at learning my language. I noticed something about you tonight. Something in your eyes._

 “And what was that?”

  _Something was troubling you. What happened before you came to find me?_

 “Well, I don’t need you to worry, but you will receive an apology from Meg in the morning once you awake.”

  _An apology? Oh, please don’t make her do that. She had a right to be angry with me for not telling her._

 “No, Madeleine, she has no right to be jealous of you and giving me lessons. What she did was inexcusable. She will apologize. She knows better than to cross me.” Madeleine nodded softly, and then wrote again.

  _What would you like to tell me about yourself tonight, as our first lesson is over?_

 Tom read the paper and smiled softly, thinking. What he really wanted to tell her was that he wished to hold her hands and kiss her delicate skin. Through the hours that she taught him her language, he realized how beautiful and passionate that she was through her hands. Now, if only he could get her to speak and show him her passion through her words instead of her dancing and her hands. “Hmm,” he said, standing up and leaving his cloak upon the floor, offering his hand to her. She took it and stood with him and he hooked her arm into his, leaving the chapel with her. “Something about me…well, I was born in London. I’m the youngest of my family, and I have three sisters. My family was very well off, but I decided to leave and come to Paris to pursue my love of music.” She looked up at him, wanting to hear more as they walked across the stage, moving towards the dorms. “No, no. I promised you one thing per lesson, and one thing about me is all that you will get. Actually, I told you more than one thing about me, but I can’t really talk about London without talking about my family.”

 She stopped, signing slowly so he could understand her. He spoke out her signs slowly.

 “What…happened…to them? Well, my parents are long gone, and my sisters are all married off and have children of their own. I haven’t seen them since I left home, and they haven’t written me.”

 She signed again. _If it were me, I would write each one of them once a week._

 He smiled softly, starting to walk with her again back to the dorms. “I know you would, because you’re a kind soul like that, my dear Madeleine. My family, we didn’t express our love for each other much. My father was a bastard, and mother was a kind woman who loved him despite his faults. She taught me the classics. Her love for Shakespeare knew no bounds. And…and you’ve got me talking about myself again,” he said with a smirk as they stopped in front of her door. She blushed and looked down at the floor, smiling before looking back up again and signing.

  _Can you blame me? I have your name, and you intrigue me so._

 He chuckled, reaching out and gently grasping her hand, looking at her. “I’m not surprised that I intrigue you, and as much as I would love to continue our conversation, it is well past your bedtime and others will be rising soon. I must let you rest.” She pouted playfully. “No pouting, _mon cher_. You’ll see me again tomorrow. Shall we meet in the chapel again?” She nodded, smiling softly as she watched him lift her hand and kiss it softly, looking into her eyes before his other hand reached for the doorknob, quietly opening the door to her room, allowing her to walk inside. She turned once she was inside, signing to him.

  _Goodnight, Thomas. Sleep well._

 He smiled softly, closing the door after bowing to her, whispering quietly against the wood, “Goodnight, Madeleine.” He left the door and descended down to the lair as the sun began to rise over the city.


End file.
